


The Big Bad Wolf

by BlueEyedArcher



Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher (Video Game)
Genre: Blood and Gore, Gen, Hallucinations, Hurt, Love Triangles, Monsters, Near Death Experiences, Nightmares, Past Relationship(s), Past Violence, Poisoning, Potions, Violence, Wolves
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-20
Updated: 2016-06-20
Packaged: 2018-07-16 04:49:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 5,746
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7253083
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BlueEyedArcher/pseuds/BlueEyedArcher
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Geralt gets caught in a tight spot after taking on a contract to eradicate a nest of troublesome arachas. It's kill or be killed and he's come to terms with the fact that he just might not make it out of this one alive.</p><p>(I am appalled that there is no Geralt x Shani tag. There will be Geralt x Shani in this fiction. I simply adored her out of all of the possible romance choices. Next to Triss.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Old Dogs New Screw Ups

**Author's Note:**

> Please leave a comment in the end.
> 
> (Inspired by a spot in The Witcher 3 where the territory of three wolf packs meet and I got overrun by them outside Novigrad. Also may mention many other scenes involving other characters from both The Witcher Assassin of Kings and Wild Hunt.)
> 
> Don't really know where I'm going with this. Bare with me please. If you have any thought please share and I'll gladly take any ideas or advice.

Geralt was surrounded, the sound of teeth snapping and snarling at his ankles made him tense, flinching away from it only to find himself closer to another pair of jaws that growled beside him. He'd swing his steel blade at the jaws, warding them off and hoping to hit the mark but only catching fur and leaves in the process. He'd barely crawled out of the arachas nest nearby after setting fire to the hatchlings and their eggs before more sprung up. The flames and cries of dying arachas spawn called out the very pissed off mother. The mother had been bigger than Geralt had expected, the villagers hadn't been exaggerating when they told their stories, the cave walls were barely big enough for the mother arachas alone let alone her spawn which made the fight nearly impossible. He'd down his last Swallow potion after stunning the creature with Axii. The effect of it had aided him after slaying the beast and retrieving its head. 

 

He'd no sooner secured it to Roach’s saddle when a pack of wolves descended on him from the hills. The pack alone wouldn't have made much difference but as the lead Warg howled two more packs descended. It was a farfetched sight to behold given wolf packs rarely tolerate one another let alone work together to take on the same prey. As a couple dozen wolves circled and leapt at him, Geralt cursed aloud as he dove and dodged. Roach fled at Geralt’s command and took off like the wind as the Witcher wielded his blade and used a Quen sign. But one attack after another came like a fury, he'd no sooner fend one wolf off with his blade when two more would make for his heels and another at his back. He'd twist and turn and roll out of the way, gaining no more ground between him and his foes and even less leeway to swing upon the beast with a good strike. Each partial blow did little but piss the wolves off even more. 

 

His Swallow potion had little effect in the aftermath of the battle against the arachas. It would have held him over until he reached Novigrad but now he barely had enough energy to continue the fight. He was already banged up from getting slammed into the cave walls and his muscles ached from the long fight as he tried to break through the beast’s hard outer shell all the while avoiding the claws and mandibles of it and it's offspring. Now he only hoped to gain some ground between him and the wolves but they swarmed him from every direction, making certain he wouldn't be able to escape. He swung his sword at the lead wolf with it's distinct tawny coat separating it from the rest. His blade met the wolf’s side cutting deeply into it. The beast yelped and whimpered until it bled to death at his feet seconds later. The rest of the wolves were far from pleased, the scent of blood from one of their own seemed to only drive them into an even greater frenzy.

 

The second largest wolf beside the alpha stepped up and snarled at Geralt. He gripped his blade tightly awaiting it's next move. As the wolf howled, the rest of the wolves backed away, circling him still but keeping their distance. It reminded Geralt of a duel. Him against what he could only imagine was the beta. The canine second in command so to speak. The large silver wolf lowered itself into a crouch, watching him closely as it prepared itself for the next attack. Geralt was caught between watching his back for a sly move from the beasts and focusing on the new Alpha of the pack. The wolf lunged suddenly whilst Geralt was in mid thought causing him to swing on impulse. His blade grazed the new Alpha wolf’s ribs and gut before colliding with a large stone protruding from the earth. His blade shattered on impact leaving a deep scar in the rock’s surface. The lead wolf collapsed with a whimper, wounded but not nearly dead. It dragged itself to it's feet and growled at him. Geralt could feel the vibrations of it's disdain in the air. He looked at his blade in shock as it's shards were dispersed across the earth like broken moonlight. He felt a growl of his own surface from deep within his chest.

 

His silver blade was in no better shape, near its end from beating the hard shell of the arachas mother and in desperate need of repair. Geralt cursed under his breath as he quickly assessed his broken weapon. A long thin shard of the blade remained attached to the hilt, resembling more of a barbaric dagger then a sword now. He had little else to defend with and he could barely summon the focus required to use a sign, his Quen was barely holding on and he grew more weary with every second. His footsteps were stumbling and his feet like lead as he tried to move. His strength was quickly waning as was his will.

 

He raised the broken blade in defense. If he was going to die, he'd go out fighting to the end. He watched the new Alpha circle him slowly before lunging suddenly. Geralt raised the blade as the beast pounced, sinking it's jaws into his shoulder, paws slamming into his chest knocking him back. Geralt plunged the blade into the beast’s chest and cried out in pain as the wolf clamped down harder. He twisted the blade trying to force the beast to release him. After a quick wrench of the broken blade, the wolf’s vice grip slacked then released and the beast slumped against his chest. A high pitch whine escaping it's maw before it's eyes rolled back, the life escaping it's body. Geralt pushed the wolf off of him with a great heave. The effort nearly taking the last of his strength. He dragged himself to his feet, gripping the handle of the blade and tugging it free of the corpse. He wobbled as he brandished the bloody broken blade, staring down the wolves left. A dozen or so watched him closely. Many had fled after watching their pack leaders be killed even so there were still to many for the lone weary Witcher to take on.

  
He swayed in place as the wolves started their approach, splitting up and preparing to circle once more when a high pitch whistle sliced through the air. The wolves stopped in their tracks and looked past the Witcher. Another high pitch whistle and they flinched back, lowering their heads and whimpering as if the sound itself was painful. They flattened back their ears and dropped their tails between their legs, shaking their heads and slinking back away from their prey. Geralt felt a shiver run down his spine, knowing all too well a being was behind him but he hadn't the energy or the care to look behind him. The wolves lingered a few moment's longer before retreating back into the woods. Geralt’s grip on the blade weakened until the handle fell free of his fingers, clattering to the earth. He sunk to his knees, feeling a dizziness overcome him. Fire erupted in his shoulder and the world around him did somersaults in his vision.  He closed his eyes but only felt the sway of the earth grow stronger. He felt the darkness come calling, beckoning him with the temptation of sleep. He tried to shake it off but knew all too well it's lure was too strong. As he succumbed to it's calls, he heard the faintest sound of foot steps approach him from behind then the feeling of falling though he never hit the ground. The distant muffled rumble of voices then just the sound of rare blissful silence. 


	2. The Wolf and The Squirrel

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Only dogs chase Squirrels. Wolves.....well that's another story.
> 
> Geralt is more confused than ever before and he's not out of the woods yet, figuratively and literally speaking.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really liked Iorveth as a character in The Assassin's of Kings and was really bummed when I found out he didn't make it to The Wild Hunt like the rest of the main characters did. I'd would have cried tears of joy had he been brought back. But oh well. That's what fanfiction is for. Thank you to all of you who have read to the next chapter of my humble work. I applaud you for sticking with the story to the second chapter. Many would have gotten bored by the end of the first and I award you with yet another chapter of my weirdly random/ not so random story. I'm making this up as I go along.

 

The witcher’s golden cat eyes blinked open, fighting off the heavy grasps of sleep that continue to pull at his mind. He turned his head to the side to inspect his surroundings. His eyes fighting to pierce the darkness of the dredges of sleep keep them dull. He could hear the faint sounds of movement around him but his entire body burned and pleaded against the notion of moving of his own accord. As the sounds grew louder and more frequent, the Witcher’s instincts drew him to investigate. Every nerve was buzzing with energy. His muscles coiling, preparing to spring upon any foes who dared come too close. He reached for his blades but found they were nowhere near him. His skin chilled with a slight breeze, his brain just now registering his lack of armor. He wore only dark trousers, ripped and frayed from his earlier fight and in need of repair. His barefeet curled into the soft earth as he dragged himself into a crouch. His balance was something to be desired and his shoulder cried out with sharp bolts of pain through his arm and up his neck. The painful burning growing, coiling and slithering through his chest like long icy tendrils. His throat was rough and he felt as if water hadn’t graced his lips in days. He licked his parched lips and surveyed his surroundings finding nothing of note nearby. He focused his senses but heard nothing as if all the sounds he’d heard just moments ago had vanished.

 

The movement was replaced by an eerie silence. It made his skin crawl with unease. He shuddered and dragged himself to his feet, feeling his body wobble and sway in doing so. His head spun and he felt like the ground was rushing up to greet him when strong hands suddenly caught him, hooking under his biceps and dragging him back to his feet, steadying him as he tried to focus in the darkness. A single solitary figure stood before him but his cat eyes took a moment longer to register more details. Thick earthy green armor with a brown leather breast plate, tarnish brass buckles fixed it in place and well worn. Geralt raised his gaze, taking in the frayed red bandana fixed upon their head with a single solitary emerald eye peering at him with curiosity. Geralt’s golden eyes widened at the sight of the scoia’tael leader standing before him, his hand still firmly gripping his bicep as if releasing it would cause the witcher to collapse once more. “I- Iorveth?” He questioned in disbelief.

 

“ _Gwynbleidd._ ” The elf greeted softly, a mixture of relief and concern in his voice. Geralt watched the elf and made to step forward when another wave of dizziness swept through him. He groaned as the burning pain arched through his chest, feeling as if his heart was being gripped in an iron fist. Iorveth’s grip tightened on Geralt’s arm, his eyes saddening at the poor sight of the witcher. The look from the scoia’tael leader was something Geralt was not accustomed to and it made him feel worse.

 

“How did you- I mean,....why are you-” The words were fractured amongst his thoughts, his sentences decaying before they made a successful journey to his lips. He felt his focus shattered and he closed his eyes trying to summon his energy. Just enough to speak if anything. He felt foolish, unable to form appropriate statements but he hadn’t enough care for it to last. He felt miserable at best and found his strength waning the longer he was made to remain standing. The elf seemed to sense this and drew the witcher’s uninjured arm around his shoulders and carried a majority of his weight, silently guiding him through the dark.

 

“Where…” His voice drifted off as the rebel elf hushed him.

 

“Save your strength _Gwynbleidd_. You’ll need it.” He cooed as he shuffled the weary witcher along. Geralt raised his head to see where it was the rebel elf was taking him, his eyes drawing out the lines and silhouettes of trees and bushes. He was in a forest. He shook his head slightly, drooping it. He hadn’t even realized he was still in the forest. It didn’t feel right. It was so dark like being in the deepest darkest underwater cavern or lost in a winter’s night. He couldn’t hear the cicadas or the owls but now as he took in his surroundings, he heard the distant cry of a screech owl after it’s prey. The soft lull of a babbling brook nearby. The chirping of crickets in a nearby bush. He felt the soft caress of the night’s cool breeze and heard the dancing of leaves as they shiver in unison against the wind’s hushed whispers. Its as if his senses were slowly but surely coming to life again.

 

He stopped in his slow shuffle, causing Iorveth to look at him, concern etched across his features. “What-” He began as another sharp jolt of pain shot through his shoulder causing his voice to hitch as he fought back with a grimace of clenched teeth. “What does that mean?” He finally asked as the worst of the pain subsided to a dull throbbing.

 

The rebel elf gave him a pitying look in response which only made the witcher worry even more. “Iorveth,” He began, his voice nearly pleading which sounded foreign to his own ears.

 

The elf seemed to contemplate for a moment on rather or not to divulge such information that Geralt believed he knew. After a moment he sighed giving the witcher a sense of hope that he might finally get a straight answer from the elf but it was soon shattered as he spoke softly. “All in due time _Gwynbleidd._ ” He felt the elf’s grip on his arm loosen for the first time since he showed himself. Another sharp jolt of pain shot through his chest causing him to cry out, he buckled over clutching at his chest, panting with heavy gasping breaths. When the pain faded to a more bearable hum, Geralt raised his gaze only to find himself alone.

 

“Iorveth?” He asked, twisting around to peer into the tree line. He stood up, a hand still clutching his chest as the pain thrummed to the same rhythm of his heart. He stumbled towards the treeline they had initially been heading  before Geralt stopped them. The darkness that weaved itself through the woods began to dim until it dispersed by the burst of morning light washing over the clearing. Illuminating the early morning fog in golden clouds. As Geralt broke through the treeline, his chilled skin graced by the warming rays of sunlight, he spied two awkward shadows of different heights sitting amidst the coverage of fog. A soft melody dancing amidst the clearing, joined by the songs of birds awoken by the welcoming rays of morning.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please drop a comment of your thoughts, ideas or advice. I would really appreciate it.


	3. Kumbaya Around A Fire (Or Just Dandelion Singing)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Old pals and even older memories. Good and bad.

 

Geralt shielded his eyes as he entered the clearing. The morning fog began to disperse allowing the full strength of the sun beams to assault his overly sensitive pupils. His eyes throbbed from the strain he put them through in the darkness but after a few minutes to get adjusted the throbbing pain evaporated. Now if he could only get the rest of his wounds to cease their protests. The soft melody he had heard earlier, he found was coming from one of two shadowy figures sitting on stumps in the center of the clearing. He blinked his eyes, focusing on the bright colors of one of the figures, vibrant clothes awash in violets and indigos. It was far from normal in the middle of nowhere but when the voice piped in with the melody and began singing a familiar ballad, the witcher found the sight wasn’t so peculiar. The second shadowy figure was shorter in a rustic brown coat with an ax sitting at his side. His head was drooped as he prodded the embers of a fire with a stick trying to coax them back to life. The taller figure hummed without a care to the melody, a break in the lyrics as he strummed the strings of his lute absentmindedly.

 

Geralt stepped forward, his heavy footing landing on a dried tree branch that broke with a loud crack causing both men to jump to their feet. The dwarf wielding his ax, prepared to fight while the bard raised his lute as if he'd planned to club the intruder to death. The sight alone amused the witcher, pulling a soft chuckle from his lips. Though his amusement was short lived as the soft laughter drew shocks of pain through his chest. His features fell into disappointment as he was unable to fully enjoy the sight.

 

“Geralt?” The rugged voice of the dwarf was the first to break the silence, he slowly lowered his ax as did the bard with his lute.

 

Geralt sighed, taking a second to form his words, though they came breathy. “Zoltan. Dandelion.” His greeting took effort and was rather curt but he believed the circumstances would allow him to be brief. “What are you doing out here?” He felt a thrum of pride as he managed the question with relative ease. Or so he told himself. As much as he tried to play it off, he could see in the way Zoltan and Dandelion stared at him that his distress was all too plain to see. If the fact he was running around the woods in only his trousers was anything to show for it. He realized they were only trying to humour him and his pride.

 

The awkward way Zoltan shifted in place as if he had a mass of questions but enough mind to hold back. Dandelion on the other hand looked as if he were about to explode, his eyes roaming over the witcher’s pitiful state, his face twisted with concern and Geralt could swear their was also regret. The bard bit his lip, holding back the many things he wished to say and looked about to fail his task when Zoltan spoke up. “Join us by the fire, won't you. Warm yourself. I've just about got it roarin to life.” He invited, voice a bit strained as he tried desperately to portray his usual gleeful friendly greeting. Geralt nodded and obliged. He managed to make his way to the fireside and settle himself down just as Zoltan stoked the flames, waking them up enough so that their gluttonous appetite would ravage the fresh kindling placed at the center of the embers.

 

“Here.” Dandelion was the one to speak this time, his voice a bit strained as if he wished to say more but he was reining himself in for the witcher’s sake. He held out a thick woolen blanket to the white wolf. “Mutation or no, you'll catch your death out here dressed like that.” The bard stated. The more he spoke the more he sounded like himself. As if burning away the awkward edges of their odd reunion. Geralt took the blanket with an appreciative smile and wrapped it around himself, eyes settling on the fire before him.

 

The silence from earlier befell them once more. Geralt stared off at the flames, watching as Zoltan prodded the embers and moved the kindling around. Dandelion fiddled nervously with his lute, his fingers playing across the strings but strumming no sound as if practicing the strokes of a phantom song. It was Geralt’s turn to break the silence. Normally it would please him immensely for some peace and quiet amongst his closest friends. Zoltan’s rowdy personality and Dandelion’s excitement and eccentric ideas tend to test the elder man's patience, making him crave the solace of travel and the silent solitude. But silence amongst his closest companions was a rarity and it disturbed the elder man greatly. He was more then eager to dispense the disturbance with idle chatter. “You still haven't answered my question.” He reminded his friends.

 

Dandelion was the first to answer, in a hurried voice he raised his lute for emphasis. “Just stroking the strings of inspiration my dear friend. The beautiful lady that is mother nature is the oldest and greatest of muses and I wish to be her messenger and do her the artistic justice of portraying her vivid beauty as she deserves.”

 

“Right.” Geralt eyed Dandelion a moment before turning his attention to Zoltan. “And you?”

 

“Dandelion asked me to come along. Figured if trouble was to rear it's head, I'd do more damage then his singing.” Zoltan jested, nodding towards Dandelion with a sly smirk as the bard whined his protest.

 

“Hey! You just don't know good taste unless it comes in a glass.” Dandelion shot back.

 

Geralt smiled as he watched the two go at it like the good old days. It reminded him of their time spent in Flotsam, where the two would bicker and harp on one another at the local tavern. The memory was a fond one. He'd return in the evening's to find them drunk and in the midst of a heated discussion or one of them betting their last copper in a friendly game of cards. Though by the night's end the other would get their coin back if only from inebriated pity on the loser. The next night the cycle would begin all over again. The winner receiving bragging rights until they lose and the loser would buy the next round of drinks. So was their way. Their peculiar little way.

 

Geralt was dragged from his thoughts by the concerned voice of Dandelion. His words were soft and quiet as if speaking with a child. The two’s boisterous bickering quickly silenced and now both their eyes were on him. “Geralt, are you okay? Don't take offense to this but you don't look so good.”

 

A sarcastic remark rose to his lips, ready to pounce but he quelled it and emitted a soft sigh, pulling the blanket tighter around himself as if he could hide from their prying eyes if he wished hard enough. He knew he sounded childish but he was far from pleased with his predicament and hadn't a clue how he'd gotten ensnared in it in the first place or how to explain it. Likewise, talking about it with his oldest of friends wouldn't change his situation either. “Shitty night is all.” There was a prolonged silence as if that was enough to keep the rest of their questions at bay. Geralt didn't really want to talk about it. But it wasn't long before the silence became unbearable once again and it was the bard's turn to break it.

 

“You don't have to try so hard.” Dandelion sighed.

 

Geralt gave the bard a questioning look. “What?”

 

Dandelion thought for a second then elaborated. “You put yourself through hell for even the simplest contract and you go out of your way for people who don't deserve it. You try so hard to please everyone and reach a compromise or the best possible conclusion for both man and beast. Yet you are treated with contempt no matter the end result. You don't have to try so hard. You beat yourself up over mistakes made, you don't realize you can't save everyone. It's not the nature of the world for everyone to get their happily ever after. You just end up getting hurt or punishing yourself for something you've no control over.”

 

Geralt understood and he's heard the same lecture from Vesemir and even Triss but it doesn't make him feel any better when the time comes and the hard choices must be made. It doesn't make his conscience any lighter or free his dreams of past phantoms reminding him of all his fuck ups. With a tired sigh, Geralt gave a simple nod. “I know.” He breathed. Eyes locked on the fire. He knew Dandelion meant well but now he could feel the chill of his mistakes climbing his spine, reminding him of what impulsive decisions get him. The most recent being the sight of the Baron’s wife Anna lying in the mudd of the bog, gasping her last breaths as the Crones curse took it's final toll on her. Fulfilling the pact they made. The silhouette of the Baron’s body hanging from the tree in the courtyard of Crow’s Perch. Left there to hang while the crows gather to take their fill. The people of the fortress going on with their daily routine as if nothing was amiss. Even the Baron's own men cared nothing for their leader and were in no hurry to see to his corpse. Their sympathies were selfish, going only as far as the Baron's coin could buy. It made Geralt wonder if he'd meet a similar end. Without a single soul around to care what happens to him.

  
In his thoughtful revery, Geralt barely registered Zoltan’s words as he excused himself to search for more kindling. Dandelion nodded and returned to plucking the strings of his lute. Playing a different, slower melody this time. The witcher allowed himself to be lost in the sound of the music and the sight of the fire, the faint crackling barely audible but joining the melody in an odd fashion that strangely worked in Geralt's opinion.


	4. Women Are Trouble

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Okay so I always thought Geralt and Triss made a cute couple and click immediately. But from The Witcher two I thought that Geralt and Yennefer were made for each other. But after playing three and hearing Priscilla's song, I feel really bad for Geralt. I was in a relationship with someone who was just like Yennefer and I was just like Geralt, doing everything I could to please them and that is not a good way to love. It never ends well and nobody is truly happy..that and in my personal opinion, Yennefer is a bitch. I don't like her, especially when she throws fits like a child then claims Geralt is the childish one. 
> 
> After playing the Heart of Stone DLC, I fell in love with Shani's character and personally think Shani would make a better romance for Geralt then Yennefer but since that isn't an option, I chose Triss. But this is my way to try to make a Shani relationship happen or my attempt at it since romance isn't really my thing. All the while blowing off some steam and showing just how much of a bitch Yennefer can be. Especially after her outburst at Kaer Morhen.

The witcher’s gaze was fixed upon the flames, though his thoughts were elsewhere. His eyes were glossy and his features a bit more relaxed. He felt as if he were drifting, floating away from these woods and the darkness. Being drawn away by some unknown source. A shudder ran through him as if a cold hand had touched his shoulder. He blinked, breaking away from the mysterious pull and drawing himself back to his own surroundings. A faint echo of Dandelion's lute still played in the back of his mind though not a soul was in sight. The stump the bard had claimed was now empty. The only sounds in the clearing was the crackle of a dying fire. Glancing around, he drew the blanket tighter around himself. “Hm. Wonder if he left to help Zoltan gather wood.” He dared a glance at the sky, finding the sun was steadily climbing it's way to the peak in the sky. His jaw set as he realized how much time had passed in his somewhat meditative state. “They should have returned by now.” He rose from his spot, still a bit unsteady but he could at least manage on his own. His concern for his friends trumped any second thoughts on his part.

He took a shaky first step but with each foot gained, his stiff limbs seemed to get the idea and began to loosen up. He spied the slightly worn path Zoltan had used earlier and started his investigation there. He tried to focus, using his Witcher senses but it brought on a strong blast of dizziness that rocked his body in waves, igniting the pain in his chest once more. He gritted his teeth and took a few controlled breathes to calm himself until the pain settled back to a dull hum. Ever present but the witcher was able to ignore it. “Guess we're doing this the old fashion way.” He grumbled, one hand unconsciously gripping at his heart through the blanket.

 

It took a few tries and quite a bit more time then he would have liked but he found a trail of prints. The heel of the prints cresting the mud, a bit deeper then the rest. “Either Dandelion started wearing heels or somebody else is out here.” He mused, the image of Dandelion in Priscilla’s heels jumping to the forefront of his mind. “I actually wouldn't put it past him.” Geralt gave a soft chuckle as he continued. Picking up a snapped branch here, a few oddly colored strings from cloth snagged there then all of a sudden the trail ended. He looks around trying to pick it back up, cursing aloud as his golden eyes scanned the intended direction but found no sign of a disturbance.

 

Suddenly, without any warning two hands covered his eyes from behind, his entire body tensed as a quiet voice asked. “Guess who?” The playful tone was unmistakable. He whirled around and backed the owner of the voice into a tree, catching there lips with his own.

 

Strands of red hair tumbling down in his vision as her hands draped around his neck drawing Geralt closer. A soft chuckle fell from her lips as they parted. “Triss.” Geralt smiled but then his face fell as a thought crossed his mind. “What are you doing out here?”

 

“I could ask you the same thing.” She said pointedly as she twirled one of his long silver locks between her fingers playfully. Her eyes glanced over him suddenly as if just taking in his worn and ragged appearance. “Geralt,” Her playful tone suddenly warped with concern. “Are you okay? You don't look so good.”

 

The Witcher smirked, putting on his best mask and nodded. “Just fine. Looking for Dandelion and Zoltan. They're parading around out here somewhere looking for fire wood.” He changed the subject, hoping Triss would follow suit. The last thing he wanted was her fussing over him and worrying.

 

Either she took the hint or her concern was genuinely shifted to the bard and the dwarf’s well-being, Geralt couldn't tell. He was just glad the conversation was away from him. “What are they doing out here in the first place?” She questioned as Geralt led her back to the clearing, hoping to pick something up that will give him a clue as to where his two closest friends went.

 

“Dandelion needed inspiration. He got the idea in his head that he wanted to write something about nature.” Geralt explained. As they entered the clearing, Geralt got to work examining the area starting at the stumps. Unable to use his senses made it even harder but his cat eyes were still just as keen. He studied the foot prints following them with his eyes. He could picture the two busying themselves around the camp, Zoltan getting up and down repeatedly to feed the fire. A few scraps of bark and twigs sat in an indent in the grass nearby Zoltan’s spot. Geralt assumed that was where their woodpile was. He studied the area around it following the tracks but all he found was that Zoltan collected a majority of his kindling from the treeline surrounding the clearing. Not a single track ventured any deeper then a few feet in. Geralt had to admit, it was smart. They were taking as few risks as possible. Drawing as little attention as they could from any beasts that call these woods home.

 

He crouched down to inspect the tracks near the entrance to the trail. He could have sworn he saw the dwarf enter the trail yet his tracks stop at the threshold of the treeline. A few feet away Triss’ footprints begin. “Triss-” He began, tossing a glance over his shoulder towards the sorceress. Once again the clearing was empty. A chill ran down his spine telling him he was far from alone. He could hear their heartbeat, steady and strong. He rose from his crouched position. “Triss?” He called, looking around again. “Tri-”

 

A crunch of leaves behind him was the only warning. Then a sharp female voice quipped. “You going to throw yourself at her again? Maybe you scared her off. Or maybe she got wise and decided you aren't worth the heart break.”

 

“Yen.” The name passed his lips with a pained expression. “I'm sorry.”

 

The sorceress adorned in her signature black attire stalked towards the Witcher looking more intimidating then ever before. “You're sorry? Truly? Well well. Then my forgiveness is my gift. Shall I hold your hand as well and play party to your endeavors, coming to your every beckon call.” The spite in her voice was sharper then normal, Geralt was taken aback by the sudden anger in her eyes.

 

“Yen-” He began but her dagger tongue was quick to stab at him again.

 

“Geralt.” Her hard tone was equally as surprising. It held a fierce ire that went beyond their usual lovers spat. By this time she would have teleported him off to some remote spot in the woods and he'd have to make the long trek back to apologize. But she didn't even move to send him off. She was determined to stab and prod and cut him down where he stood. “Let me guess, you're going to blame it on your infamous amnesia. Or maybe you'd decide to be a real man and actually state your true feelings about our relationship. Dispense with your childish execuses.” Geralt was already getting the feeling he'd rather have been teleported off somewhere else.

 

“Yen, please.” He begged.

 

“No Geralt.” She snarled.

 

The Witcher stepped forward hoping to calm the angry sorcoress, searching his mind for any idea. But as he closed the distance between them, Yennefer’s hand shot out, colliding with the side of the witcher’s face. Geralt froze in place completely shocked, his cheek smarting with a small red hand print as evidence. Even with the blow against the witcher, Yennefer’s fury only appeared to escalate.

 

“I am sick and tired of hearing your excuses. Of playing nanny to your antics and being forced to clean up the mess you made.”

 

This struck a nerve with Geralt.  “What mess? Huh? I followed you to hell and back, looking for you through half a damn continent and you barely bat an eye when I finally find you. You use me when it suites your interests and play me at every turn. When you've no need for me you just send me off like your errand boy without a please or thank you.”

  
“Fine.” She set her jaw. “ _Thank you_ for being positively dreadful. Now _please_ get out of my sight.” She spoke softly, a politeness reserved for the royal court. Before Geralt could react, Yennefer sent a powerful blast of energy at the witcher, knocking him back across the clearing. His injured shoulder colliding with one of the stumps in the process. He landed in a crumpled heap near the tree line. An explosion of pain rocking his senses and coloring his vision with a white blast. As the world came back to him, he watched through slitted eyes as Yennefer turned her back on him and vanished in a wisp of black smoke. He blinked a couple times before his eyes shut completely.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading so far. Please drop a comment to tell me what you think. This is starting to wrap up. I hope to finish up in the next chapter or so. All depends on how I plan it out. Hoping just one more chapter but if not, I hope you won't hold it against me if this goes two more chapters longer. I thank you again for reading my fanfiction and applaud you for sticking with me this far.


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